


strike me like a lighter, and i will ignite

by cloudywithachanceofme



Series: a marvelous universe [2]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, Minor Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau, Monica Rambeau is Spectrum, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Spectrum!Monica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26237398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudywithachanceofme/pseuds/cloudywithachanceofme
Summary: People are staring, and she supposes she should leave. This is their time to grieve, to remember, to cry, and she’s standing here like a fucking beacon, probably reminding them of the heroes that couldn’t save themselves, let alone the people on the ground waiting on them to somehow fix it. She should leave. Or at the very least, get a grip on herself.Monica leans forward and presses her fingers into the marble surface of the Wall. These past few months, she’s spent more time at these Walls than she has almost anywhere else. Some days, she’s afraid she’ll go along its length, cataloguing each and every name and find Monica Rambeau, with her mother’s distraught face reflected back at her.
Relationships: Maria Rambeau & Monica Rambeau
Series: a marvelous universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930729
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	strike me like a lighter, and i will ignite

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this, like, a month after Endgame came out, but I wasn't really posting my fics then. So today, I was going through my docs and found this and figured I should probably post it lol. It's kinda sad, but it was nice writing it, and I hope y'all like it!

Six months have passed by the time the memorial goes up. Six months, three weeks, and five days. 

Another six weeks pass before she finds it in herself to pay it a visit. It's a Tuesday, so she hadn’t been expecting a crowd. But when Monica stalks through the gates, practically vibrating with unspent energy, the park is teeming with masses, a succession of multicolored vehicles trailing in like an unending freight train of mourners.

It's crowded. Too crowded. With an exhausted sigh, Monica launches herself into the air, her skin peeling away in flakes to reveal a swirling mass of raw energy, and scours the park until her ears start ringing. Eyes a bright, smoldering white, Monica turns and finds her chest going tight at the sight of her mother standing on the other side of the somber wall between them. Within seconds, Monica’s at her side, the grass incinerating at the mere touch of her toes. 

Momma casts her a sideways glance, brows raised tiredly as if to say,  _ Seriously? _ . Monica just shrugs, wrapping her trench coat tighter around her, and mutters, "I'll send them a bill”. 

"You aren't taking your pills”, Momma says gently, as several others begin to notice the walking inferno standing amongst them. 

"Didn’t think it was necessary. Given the apocalypse and all”, Monica returns, taking a moment to rake her eyes over the names before her. She doesn’t have the strength to actually go through them. This is a small town. If she goes looking for someone, she’s going to find them, and it’s been six months, but she’s still not ready for that. And if she’s being honest, she doubts she ever will be.

"Monica-"

Monica shakes her head and shoves her hands deep into her pockets, like that’ll make the hurt stop. She stares out at the wall, one of many she's canvassed since the Vanishing, and forces herself to see. She finds herself looking, searching, wondering if she'll spot a new name amongst the sea of the dead and just. Because there are new dead turning up all the time, a last, indirect “fuck you”, courtesy of Thanos himself. After all this time, you’d think she’d be immune to the hurt. "Any word on…”, Monica trails off, something of a solar flare igniting in her chest. “Anything?"

"Baby." Momma takes a step forward to envelop her in a crushing hug. Once upon a time, Monica might have pushed her away. Once upon a time, she might’ve broken down crying, turned her back to her, and taken off, with mere flecks of light and smoke in her wake. 

But not now. Not when this just might be the last source of comfort she has left in the universe. And so Monica leans into her mother's touch, the light of her eyes disappearing as her lids close over them. Her mother, gentle yet firm, holds her and murmurs, "Half my contacts are dead and the other half outta their mind with grief. At this point, you all I got left...You and her."

Monica just inhales sharply. And even though she's long since grown taller than her mother, she wants to curl into a ball and just be carried away, carried to where there are no prying eyes, no towering walls, no vanishing names because she can't do this. She stands there, a glowing force of light and energy and potential destruction, and she thinks,  _ I can't do this _ . Grieving for a woman she barely remembers but so fiercely misses, on top of those she does remember. It's an ache, a pain so strong that it spiders throughout her entire being. And if she couldn't see her light reflecting back in the reflection of the monument, she'd think she was still in her human form because it shouldn't hurt like this. It shouldn't hurt like this.

But then she thinks of her mother. Momma, who's been grieving longer than most but still hopes against all reason and logic that, one day, the sky will split open with a woman with blazing hair and glowing hands. If she can do it, then Monica can, too.

Right?

“I put in a call to S.H.I.E.L.D.”, Monica murmurs. “Or, what’s left of it anyway. Nick and Maria…”   
Momma’s voice cracks, the remainder of her sentence lost to the wind. She says something under her breath, pats a hand against Monica’s cheek, then turns and starts down the walk path, her shoulders trembling as she goes.

Monica remains where she is. People are staring, and she supposes she should leave. This is their time to grieve, to remember, to cry, and she’s standing here like a fucking beacon, probably reminding them of the heroes that couldn’t save themselves, let alone the people on the ground waiting on them to somehow  _ fix _ it. She should leave. Or at the very least, get a grip on herself. 

Monica leans forward and presses her fingers into the marble surface of the Wall. These past few months, she’s spent more time at these Walls than she has almost anywhere else. Some days, she’s afraid she’ll go along its length, cataloguing each and every name and find Monica Rambeau, with her mother’s distraught face reflected back at her.

But she’s not dead. Be it by fate or logic, Monica’s not dead. She’s alive and one of the few with the opportunity to do anything about the shitstorm that is currently their reality. Because the Avengers? They’re not dead. Not all of them. But the ones that survived, they’re just as broken and lost as the rest of them.

“Excuse me.” 

Monica turns and looks down at her side, where a boy no older than twelve stands alone, holding a drooping bouquet of flowers. Judging from his ratty clothes and gaunt appearance, he’s likely one of the children she’s heard of, who lost their guardians to the Vanishing. Monica’s heart, though currently nonexistent, breaks at the sight. The boy moves to crouch beside the wall, and Monica hands him a dollar bill. He looks up at Monica, red, watery eyes filled with confusion, but Monica’s already turned away and begun racing after her mother. She pauses six feet away from her, her feet smoldering and threatening to actually catch her a lawsuit. She pushes herself off the ground and glides over to cut off her mother, her face unabashedly open and afraid. 

Her whole life she's been fighting to get to space, to find her Aunt Carol and bring her back home. And when she finally got there and still couldn’t find her, she realized that Carol probably didn’t want to come back, didn’t want a life with them, likely never had. And after spending all her energy in an obsessive crusade against her, Monica came back and swore off space, choosing to stick to the ground for a little while, make the best of what little years left she has with her mother. 

Five years have passed, though, and the stars are calling to Monica again. 

Momma gives Monica a sad smile and steps closer to her. She tosses her arms up and around Monica’s shoulders. It’s an awkward hug, with her mother on her toes and Monica bending over, but Monica wouldn’t end it for anything in the world. 

“I’m proud of you, baby. And she would be, too”, Momma whispers into her ear. And then, after lingering for just another moment more, she turns around and leaves again. 

: : :

Monica doesn’t think further of the conversation until later that night, when she’s lying in her bathtub in a blaze of anguish. 

She doesn’t do anything with it until three weeks later, when she’s resumed control of her human form and decided it’s time she take on some more control. 

She drives to Lake Pontchartrain, in a Buick she rented from a friend before the Vanishing. As she’s driving, she pulls back the drop top and lets her eyes bleed light, staring at the passing clouds as she thinks of what’s to come. But more than that, Monica thinks of who’s to come and who they may lose in the coming battle. The latter, she doesn’t allow herself much time to think on because she’s already lost so much. 

She won’t allow herself to lose anything more. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback gives me extra life points, just so you know 😘😘😘. Lol, I hope y'all liked it and if you like this, I'm working on an unrelated Monica fic. Thanks for reading and I'll see y'all next week. Byeeeee.


End file.
